


The Times I Saw Her

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affairs, Angst, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hermione is in the teacher role, Infidelity, Jealousy, Obsession, Obsessive Tom Riddle, POV Tom Riddle, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tom Riddle's Diary, Tom is an aspiring writer, Tom is the student, oh yes and don't forget the mindfuckery, series of drabbles that make a bigger story, so he's a bit broody, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: I counted all the times I saw her, and wrote about it in my diary.I wrote her down again and again andagainuntil my fingers were bled black with her.I wrote her down in ink, so that she could live forever on my pages.





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TheForbiddenFruit](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheForbiddenFruit) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> He counted the times he saw her, and wrote about it in his diary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is my entry for the Forbidden Fruit 2018 competition for the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook FB group. Special thanks to my beta, alpha, and artist [Pans, Ariel Riddle, and Vino Amore] for putting up with me. Yeeeet.
> 
>  
> 
> Fancast [age]:
> 
>  
> 
> Hermione Granger [26]: Emma Watson  
> Tom Riddle [17/18]: James Quaintance  
> Ron Weasley [26]: Rupert Grint  
> Draco Malfoy [17]: Tom Felton

* * *

* * *

 Out of all the times I saw her,

I saw her as her, and only her.

And as I kept watch – as I observed;

the desire made me hungry,

and the _darkness_ inside me stirred.

Out of all the times I saw her,

I saw me and her – as us – we just _were_.

 And I told her that I was starved;

but then she would just kiss me,

and tell me I was absurd.

* * *

_The first time I saw her, she’d left her coffee cup on the roof of her car._

Tom blew out a pillar of cigarette smoke from his mouth right as she backed up. She slammed on the brakes and the coffee went flying all over the windshield.

A slow smile curled his lips when he read the obscenities that tumbled out of her mouth. Then, he watched the way her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel, and the way she thumped her head against it in frustration.

“Who’s _that_?” he heard Draco ask.

Tom shrugged a shoulder, then flicked his cigarette butt into the snow. “No idea. Looks like a sub to me.”

“A sub? She looks too _young_ to be a sub. She won’t last two days.”

He shoved his frozen fingers into his pockets, and blew out the last bit of smoke in his lungs into the frigid air. “Of course, she won’t. This is _Hogwarts_ ,” he said, and ran his tongue against the inside of his top row of teeth. “She’s going to get eaten alive here.”

It had been a rather dull week – a rather _boring_ week, so he was hoping he’d get the chance to do just that.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I am known for getting restless in class whenever I get bored. I’m too intelligent for my own good – that’s what people have always told me, anyway – that I’m never challenged enough._

_And maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not challenged enough. Who knows? It’s a pity, really, with how often I get bored. I’ve always wanted more; I’ve always needed more._

_Which reminds me; what was it that Tolstoy said about boredom? The desire for desires?_

_Well, I desire more._

_Of what; I do not know, but I desire it, just the same._


	2. The Second Time

_The second time I saw her, she’d been kicking the staff room vending machine._

Tom had finished one of his final exams in only half an hour, so he’d left class early to head to the library for some solitude; he didn’t want to go back to his pathetic excuse of a flat just yet.

“Damn it!” he heard someone say. Then, he heard the unmistakable reverberating sound of plastic being hit.

Tom froze in the hallway after he’d already passed the open door. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, then took a few steps back to observe her.

“Would you just give me my damn crisps already?” she grumbled, and shook the machine in frustration, but the bag still wouldn’t fall.

His lips twitched when she kicked the machine with her boot as hard as she could and the bag of crisps fell.

“ _Finally_ ,” she muttered, and bent over to grab the bag out of the bin.

Tom started walking again before she turned around to see him watching her. He grinned mischievously when he thought about how her arse looked in those jeans.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I have no idea who she is, but she’s a bit of a train wreck, isn’t she? First, the coffee; then, the crisps. I’m assuming she’s just some sort of fill-in for one of the professors, or perhaps a new intern or an assistant._

_Who knows?_

_I don't know._

_I don’t really care, either._

_But…wait, why am I writing about her again?_


	3. The Third Time

_The third time I saw her, she’d been using the computer library catalog._

The college library was going to be closed for the holidays, so Tom was taking advantage of checking out a few books now, before he wouldn’t have the chance anymore. His eyes scanned the spines, and waited for _something_ to catch his eye.

That’s when he noticed her. There, through the shelves, he saw her leaning over with her chin in her palm and her elbows on the high desk. The light from the computer screen made her face look paler than it should have been. He watched as she casually scrolled through the library database, and stopped long enough to write something down on a scrap of paper with one of those _ridiculously_ tiny pencils.

And then, she turned around, and started walking in his direction.

Tom straightened back up, and started looking through the books again. There was no way in _Hell_ he’d be caught spying on some wild-haired swot.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I didn’t get caught. Why was I watching her, anyway? She’s utterly ordinary. I bet her name is something incredibly average, too – like Emma. Yeah, she looks like an Emma to me._

_It was strange, though, how my chest felt so tight when I caught a glimpse of her on the other side of the bookshelf right across from me. It must have been indigestion from that damn chicken curry I had for lunch._

_Also, her skin looks darker close-up, but maybe it was because of all the damn freckles._

_I wonder how many she has?_

_Wait, what was I writing about again?_

_Oh, yeah. Her name. Emma. She was most definitely an Emma._

_How utterly boring._


	4. The Fourth Time

_The fourth time I saw her, she’d slipped on a patch of ice in front of me on the sidewalk._

Tom rolled his eyes, and placed his cigarette between his lips so he could help her up.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he muttered, and hooked his arms underneath hers from behind to lift her up.

She started dusting the snow off her jacket. “Oh, my goodness. I’m such a klutz. Thank you _so_ much, I -” she paused when she stared up into his face. Her nose scrunched up in disgust. Tom frowned at her strange reaction.

“ _Excuse_ me,” she said bossily, and put her hands on her hips. “But you _do_ realize that there’s a strict no smoking policy on campus grounds, right?”

Tom blinked.

He stared at her with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth in disbelief.

And then, Tom blinked again. He took his cig out of his mouth, and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. “Sorry?”

“Oh? Should I have said it slower? My apologies. There…is…no…smoking…allowed -”

Tom held his hand up to stop her. He shook his head quickly in disbelief, and scowled at her. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Her face took on one of that of mock pity and she held her hand to her heart. “Oh, my goodness. You poor thing. Are you deaf, too? Do I need to say it louder?”

“Are you always this much of a bitch?” he asked nastily.

She just smiled sweetly, and said, “Only to people who smoke cigs on Tuesdays.”

“Right. Well,” Tom brought the cigarette to his mouth, and took a long hit. Then, he blew the smoke in her face. She coughed, and waved the smoke away. He said with a cruel smile, “Next time you fall on your arse, I won’t be there to help pick you up.”

Tom heard her half-heartedly yell after him as he walked away, “I didn’t ask for you to pick me up anyway, you egotistical prick!”

He took another hit, and grinned.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I still don’t know who she is, but Emma doesn’t sound right anymore._

_I do know one thing, though._

_She is, most definitely, without a doubt, a fucking bitch._


	5. The Fifth Time

_The fifth time I saw her, she’d been sitting in a chair that wasn’t hers._

“Where’s Mr. Slughorn?” he asked as casually as possible for how shocked he was to see her here, and made sure to hide the small box of crystallised pineapple behind his back. It was the last day to register for classes for the next semester before the holiday break. He’d registered back on the very first day; but, unfortunately, due to a _stupid_ error on his part, he’d signed up for a class that didn’t coincide with his work schedule. He desperately needed to get into that class, but he knew it was already full. He’d brought the candied pineapples, because it was always a surefire way to get what he wanted from Mr. Slughorn.

Tom was secretly cursing losing his temper the last time he saw her. He was royally fucked now. He knew.

She glanced up from a pile of papers she’d be strategically stacking against the desk. He knew it was just a show – it always was with _her_ type. She ignored his question. He didn’t like that.

“Mr. Riddle, I presume? Please, have a seat.”

Tom closed the door behind him. He didn’t sit. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at her and said, “My appointment was with Mr. Slughorn. Who are you?”

When her amber eyes finally landed on him, her face held a look of mild irritation that was only kept in check by her professionalism. She was probably still pissed over the whole cigarette smoke thing. _Well, fuck me_.

“I’m Ms. Granger. Mr. Slughorn transferred to a different department on campus to help cover an employee who had to go on maternity leave early. Now,” she stopped talking long enough to slide the papers in a drawer. Once her attention was on him again, she folded her hands on top of the desk and continued, “What could I help you with today, Mr. Riddle?”

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_Today was enlightening. I figured out several things today._

_First, that Ms. Granger is a complete and total bitch._

_Second, that I’m probably going to have to find a new job._

_Third, that she is **not** a fan of crystallised pineapples. _

_I wonder what kind of fruit she likes…_

_Wait, there was something else I found out today – I’m certain. What was it…?_

_Oh, yes. Her name isn’t Emma._

_Her name is Hermione._

_Not as boring as I had originally thought, but it doesn’t matter._

_She’s still a bitch._


	6. The Sixth Time

_The sixth time I saw her, she was waiting in line._

“Could I have a raspberry cream cheese Danish and a hot chocolate, please? Oh, and no whipped cream on the hot chocolate. Thanks,” he’d heard her say.

Tom lifted his eyes from his laptop screen to glance up at her, and immediately regretted it. Their eyes met.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Riddle. How are you doing?” she asked.

He leveled a cold, but meaningful gaze on her for several seconds before returning to his screen. “Wonderfully, thanks for asking,” he said sarcastically.

He could see the way she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet out of the corner of his eye. After a few moments of awkward silence, she asked, “What are you doing there?”

Tom wouldn’t look at her. He just wouldn’t. So, he stared at words on the screen that he wasn’t even reading. “Trying to find a new job. I’ll have to quit my current one, seeing how I’ll have class at that time.”

She stopped rocking on her feet. “Oh,” she paused. “I’m still very sorry about that. There was nothing I could do about your schedule. My hands were tied.”

Tom hummed, and tried to ignore her. He didn’t want her pity. He clicked on a link that looked promising. _Dog groomer?_ Perhaps not. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Her…uh…Her-me-oh-nuh? Her-me-oh-knee? Bollocks, I’ve got no clue how to say this properly.”

“Hermione,” Tom and Hermione said impatiently at the same time. They both froze, and looked at each other for a split second. He watched the way the corner of her mouth slowly lifted. His stomach lurched forward and he frowned at the feeling. Her half-smile dropped at his reaction and she grabbed her drink and pastry from the barista.

Hermione pulled out a chair, and sat down across from him.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I’m happy to say that I won’t be forced to de-shed any barking flea bags anytime soon. Thank God._

_She offered me a job. It’s temporary and it’s a bit…humiliating, to be fair. But the hours are flexible and the pay is much more than I make at Borgin’s._

_She said that she bought a new house recently. She said it’s a bit of a fixer-upper. She said that she’s been too busy sorting through Mr. Slughorn’s mess to do much of anything with it._

_I was going to tell her no. That’s what I was going to tell her._

_But I didn’t._

_I **didn’t**._

_I told her yes._

_**Why** did I tell her yes?_

_I start tomorrow._

_Also, she likes raspberries._


	7. The Seventh Time

_The seventh time I saw her, she had red paint smudged on her chin._

Hermione smiled after she opened the front door, and stepped to the side to let him in. She was definitely dressed for painting walls: sweatpants, an old flannel shirt, and her hair was in a messy bun. It was _weird_ seeing her with her hair up. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. It made her seem so... _normal_. 

He dusted the snow out of his hair, and looked around her house. It was a disaster, to put it nicely. “Uh…wow. You weren’t kidding.”

Her face scrunched up when she laughed at his remark. He felt his lips twitch. 

“Come on, the den is this way. You can just set your things there, on the stand,” she said.

Tom hung his jacket up on a hook, and went to go set his diary on the stand, but paused when he saw her walk into the other room. He frowned, and looked at the book in his hand. He quickly shoved it into the sleeve of his jacket instead.

When he walked into the den, he felt the air leave his lungs when he saw that she’d tied her flannel shirt around her waist. She was wearing a simple, white tank top. Did she know it was see-through?

He bumped into the ladder propped up against the wall, and caught it before it fell. After he steadied it, he looked up to see her smiling at him. “Yeah, it’s a wreck in here. Sorry about that. Anyway, the paint, tape, rollers, brushes, and trays are all right over there. I went a bit overboard with the plastic, so don’t be too concerned about making a mess.”

Tom glanced at the pile of supplies, and nodded. “Right.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips, and smiled again. “Ready, then? Grab a roller and let’s get to work.”

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I’ve discovered that I hate painting walls._

_But…_

_I’ve also discovered that I enjoy watching_ her _paint walls, especially when she’s wearing that white shirt._

_The red paint on her chin was the color raspberry juice. Part of me wishes that it had been raspberry juice. Part of me wishes that it was, so that I could have licked it off._

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

_I go back to finish painting the den tomorrow._


	8. The Eighth Time

_The eighth time I saw her, she offered me a cup of tea._

“It’s not much,” she said when she handed him a mug with pictures of kittens all over it. “But all my good cups are still packed away right now.”

Tom lifted the cup to his lips, and blew the steam away before taking a sip. He was knackered from all the painting, so he was glad for the tea. Hermione told him that they were done for the day, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

He blamed it on the snow.

He glanced once more at the cup before setting it down. It was one of the most childish cups he’d ever seen. “A cup is a cup,” he said with a shrug.

Hermione laughed, and went to start unpacking a box; it was filled with books. She started taking them out one-by-one, and talking about how she liked that plot in that one, but that the characterization in this one was flat. She started talking about theories and philosophies and beliefs and opinions and thoughts and _words_.

Tom’s attention was entirely hers without her even realizing it. 

The only problem was: he didn’t realize it, either.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I think I might be in trouble._


	9. The Ninth Time

_The ninth time I saw her, she grabbed me by my shoulders._

Hermione had been reaching for the cup of nails to put a shelf up, but she’d been standing on a step ladder.

And, well…she wasn’t exactly the most graceful person.

Her face had turned bright red when Tom caught her by her waist and she’d grabbed onto his shoulders to catch herself. Her face was close to his now. So, _so_ close. His eyes flicked down to her lips and he noticed the way she licked them when he did. He could just simply lean forward and –

 _No_.

Tom steadied her, then handed her the cup of nails. “Next time, just ask me to hand them to you and I will,” he bit out, irritated.

“Fine. I will,” she snapped back.

They didn’t say anything else to each other for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I want her and I fucking hate myself for it._

_Why her? Why does it have to be **her**?_

_She’s infuriating and she’s stubborn and she’s righteous and she’s a bitch and she’s plain and she’s brilliant and she’s passionate and she’s opinionated and she’s utterly extraordinary._

_There’s never been anyone else before. There’s never been a **need** for anyone else before. No one has ever captured me like this._

_No one._

_I need to keep reminding myself that she is boring._

_**Boring**._

_The desire for desires…_


	10. The Tenth Time

_The tenth time I saw her, she tore the cigarette I’d just lit from my mouth._

“Those are vile and disgusting, Tom! Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?”

Tom’s mouth fell open in disbelief when he saw the paper and tobacco soak up the slush it had been unfairly thrown in. His eyes snapped back to hers and he glared. “What the _fuck_ was that for, Hermione? That was my last one!”

Hermione tilted her chin up, and glared right back. “Good! I’m _glad_ it was your last one.”

Tom scoffed, and hid his frustrated smile by licking the inside of his cheek. Then, he raised his eyebrows defiantly and said, “I’ll just go walk down to the Co-Op right now, and buy another pack.”

Her nostrils flared. “No, you won’t.”

The corners of his mouth formed a cold smile as he challenged her. “Yes, I will; and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

He turned around, opened the sliding glass door on her back porch, and walked back in. She followed him.

“I’ll…” she struggled with her words. “I’ll give you the sack!”

Tom froze, and felt the air leave his lungs. He whirled around. “Go ahead, Hermione. _Sack me_. It’s none of your fucking business what I do with my lungs.”

She slammed the sliding door closed, and leveled her scowl on him. “I've just _made_ it my business.”

* * *

 _Dear Diary,_

_And she did. She did make it her business. Well, she tried to, at least. Bless her bleeding, little fucking heart._

_We argued again. God, I **love it** when we argue._

_It makes me feel intensely alive – that kind of alive that reminds me of riding a roller coaster. You know that feeling, right? That feeling of your heart hammering away in your chest. That feeling of adrenaline shooting through your veins like high-grade heroin. That feeling of your gut vaulting right as you take that final plummet down, down, down the rickety tracks and you’re helpless. You’ve lost all control of your life, and all you can do is scream._

_This is how she makes me feel. She makes me feel like I’ve lost all control. She’s adrenaline. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline._

_And I am the junkie shooting her into my veins._

_I am the one falling._

_And all I can do is **scream**._


	11. The Eleventh Time

_The eleventh time I saw her, she’d introduced me to her new fiancée._

“Tom, this is Ron,” she stated apprehensively and her brand-new engagement ring glared the ugliest shade of yellow he’d ever seen in his entire life. It looked like piss. It looked like the bile that lined the inside of his stomach that wanted to expel out of him at the very sight of it. It looked ugly on her.

Ron gave him an idiotic grin, and reached his hand out across the kitchen island for him to shake. Tom’s eyes flicked down to his hand, then back to Ron’s face. “I’ve got paint stripper on my hands – haven’t washed them yet,” he lied coolly. 

Ron’s hand wavered, then he brought it back, and slid it over Hermione’s waist. “Oh. Right. Well, ‘Mione’s told me you’ve helped out loads. I’ve got to thank you for that.” 

Tom and Hermione’s eyes met. She looked away first. 

He smiled coldly. “Oh, no need to thank me. She’s paying me to do this. It’s not like I’m doing her a favor.”

Her eyes snapped back to his, but she said nothing. She looked hurt. _Good_. 

“It’s getting late. I’ll pick up my mess, and head out,” Tom said, and left the kitchen.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_Anger. Jealousy. Envy. Those are human emotions that I am no stranger to. The only problem is: they’ve never been attributed to another person before. They were always attached to objects, or situations._

_Economic privilege. Social class. Lack of resources._

_I was born into this world with nothing to my name. I was born into this world **as** nothing. I have worked and climbed and used and stolen and manipulated and influenced those around me to get what I want. Some would even say that these tactics are cruel. I disagree. I would say that this world is cruel for giving me the cards that I was dealt; I am just using those cards to the best of my capabilities. That is not my fault. No. If it is anyone’s fault, I would say it is the fault of this world. _

_Do not blame me; I am just a product of my environment._

_So, these are the things in my environment that I get angry and jealous over; situations that are beyond my control. Situations that I cannot change or manipulate by just placing the right card down._

**_She_ ** _is the situation that is beyond my control._

**_She_ ** _is the card that I cannot find to play my turn adequately._

**_She_ ** _is the outlier in my meticulous life._

**_She_ ** _is the experimental error._

**_She_ ** _is something that I was not prepared for._

_I was not prepared to meet him. I was not prepared to see his arm around her. I was not prepared to see a ring on her finger. I was not prepared for this._

_No._

_I was not prepared for this at all._

_I’m supposed to go back the Monday after Christmas, before classes start again._

_I don’t want to go back, **or** to see her face ever again._

_But…I need the money. I’ll just finish the stupid job, and leave._

_God, do I **hate** her. I **hate** her so much._


	12. The Twelfth Time

_The twelfth time I saw her, she was washing the dishes._

It was Christmas Eve and Tom found himself walking. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care – sitting in his flat, and doing nothing was driving him mad. His mind would wander to things he’d much rather not think of at all.

The sun had set maybe an hour ago and he’d already gone through an entire pack of cigs. The reality that he’d smoked through an entire pack in a day was brought back to light when he patted his back pockets, and found them empty.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He sighed, and watched his breath float up. He needed to find the closest Co-Op. Where was he now, anyway? He let out another curse when he realized where his absent wandering had led him.

Of course, but _of course_ he would end up on her street. Tom shoved his freezing hands into his jacket pockets, and continued walking. There was a Co-Op around the corner. He just had to walk by her house. He just had to walk by, and continue walking. He could do it. It was easy. He could most certainly do –

No, he couldn’t. Her kitchen light was on and he saw movement and that was all it took. Tom’s eyes found her instantly and he froze.

She was washing the dishes. Her wild hair was piled up on her head and it was just _begging_ to be freed. Tom was itching to be the one to do it, but bit the inside of his cheek. 

And then, he saw _him_ come up behind her and he wrapped his arms around her from behind and he kissed her neck and he made her _laugh_.

Tom tasted copper. It was bitter. 

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I’ve added another vice on top of nicotine._

_Being out on the piss._

_Merry **fucking** Christmas._

**_God_** _, do I hate her._


	13. The Thirteenth Time

_The thirteenth time I saw her, she kept trying to make me talk._

“So...how was your Christmas?” she asked from the doorway of the shed.

Tom wiped the sweat from sanding down her stupid _fucking_ door from his forehead, and refused to look at her while he replied, “Fine.”

He continued pushing the sanding block, and continued feeling her eyes on him. He just wanted her to go away, so he could work. Working was so much easier when he was alone.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked, her voice sounding accusatory.

_You_ , he’d wanted to say. _**You** are what’s wrong with me._

But, he didn’t. He didn’t, he didn’t, _he didn’t_. Instead, he said a short and simple and utterly generic, “Nothing.”

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because she snatched the sanding block out of his hands and snapped, “You haven’t been acting like yourself at all! I called you! I called you on Christmas Eve, _and_ on Christmas; you didn’t answer!”

Tom lifted his face to the ceiling, and sighed dramatically. He brought his gaze back down to hers, and held his hand out. “Give me that back, Hermione. I’m working.”

Hermione moved the block behind her back, and shook her head. “No. Not until you tell me why you didn’t call me back.”

He fisted his hand in his hair. God, he wanted a cig, but she threatened to refuse to pay him if he smoked on her property. Fucking control freak. “Maybe I didn’t _want_ to call you. We’re not _friends_. You’re my bloody academic advisor and you’re paying me to fix your fucking house.”

He watched the way her posture tightened, bracing herself for an argument. His gut clenched knowing that he was about to drop down that roller coaster again.

It was the anticipation of that high that he always _desired_.

“I was worried about you, Tom! You could have at least text me, or something!”

Tom licked the inside of his cheek, and pointed his chin at her. “I’m under absolutely no obligation to let you know how I am. I’m none of your business, _Hermione_. Just like you’re none of _mine_.”

She shoved him then. She put her palms flat against his chest, and _shoved_  him. It set him on _fire_.

Tom grabbed her by the front of her jumper, and shoved her back up against the wall near the work bench. Nails, screws, and tools either jumped at the disturbance, or fell to the floor with a clatter. Hermione was gasping for air, lips parted, and looked up at him with wide eyes. What he was feeling was a different kind of fire; this was foreign.

“Don’t…do that…again,” he whispered between clenched teeth.

Her eyes went defiant. “Or _what_?”

“Or…you’ll regret it,” he answered quietly, but it sounded more like his own personal confession.

She licked her lips. He watched.

_The desire for desires._

“Make me regret it, Tom,” she breathed against his lips. 

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I started and I couldn’t fucking stop. She couldn’t stop, either. And what made the entire encounter even more immoral was that her fucking fiancée was watching the game on the tele in the house. He was watching the game while my tongue was shoved down her throat._

_I…don’t even know what to write. I don’t even know what to say._

_I go back tomorrow. I’m not sure what will happen, but I need to control myself better._

_This cannot happen again._

_She is not worth it._

_She is not worth this._

_No one is._


	14. The Fourteenth Time

__

* * *

 

_The fourteenth time I saw her, she was picking up his dirty clothes off the bathroom floor._

It bothered him for some reason. She was always taking care of him, and not once had he witnessed gratitude or the same being done for her. He kept telling himself it was none of his business, because, honestly, it really wasn't. Why should he care? He really shouldn't, but when he went to take a piss break and saw her slaving away again while her useless fiancée was snoring on the couch, he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

"Does he _ever_ help you with anything around here?" Tom asked from the doorway.

Hermione straightened up, and shifted the laundry basket on her hip. She frowned, and pushed a few sweaty curls away from her face. "Of course, he does."

Tom folded his arms over his chest, raised an eyebrow, and scoffed. "Really? The only useful thing I've seen him do around here is create more carbon dioxide for your houseplants," he drawled, and made a show to lift one of the prongs of one of the sad plants sitting on the shelf in the bathroom with his tattooed finger. He let it drop, and looked back at her. "And he's even doing a shit job with that."

Hermione's frown deepened. "You're out of line, Tom. Don't talk about Ronald that way again."

"But I'm not wrong."

Her mouth went slack and she faltered. "Ron's just... _busy_. He works really hard all day at his job and-"

"And you don't? I know you work ten hour days at Uni. I know you work on your lunch break. I know you bring your work home most evenings and weekends. I know that you volunteer to tutor for writing two days out of the week. I know that you are twice as 'busy' as he is and yet, here you are, picking up his dirty socks off the floor while he's taking an afternoon nap after doing absolutely nothing all day."

She scoffed, and angrily shoved the rest of the clothes in the laundry basket. "You seem to think that you know an awful lot about me, don't you?"

"I know that you deserve better," he snapped back, then cringed. Why the _fuck_ did he just say that?

"Oh, and I suppose you're an expert on what I deserve now, yeah? You don't know  _anything_ about me, Tom. You're just a kid fresh out of Sixth Form," she seethed, and shoved past him in the doorway. Tom's temper flared. He knocked the basket out of her grasp, yanked her back into the bathroom with him, and shoved her up against the now closed door. He pushed his nose against her cheekbone, ran the heel of his hands against the inside of her wrists to raise them above her head, then twined their fingers together. He could feel her pulse hammering away underneath her skin and he could feel her breath hitching in her throat and he closed his eyes to soak her all in.

"You, of all people, should know that age doesn't equal experience. You're only, what? Eight years older than me? Besides, I know more about you than you think," he whispered against her jaw as he dragged his lips across her skin. He felt her ribs expand as she took in a shuddering breath. He ran his hands back down along her arms and asked, "Do you want to know how I know more, Hermione?"

"Yes," she breathed out as she leaned into his hands that were now slowly smoothing over her breasts.

"I know more, because you're like me," he said, then moved his head into the crook of her neck, and gently bit down. She squirmed. "Do you want to know how I know you're like me, Hermione?"

"Yes," she replied, and grasped onto his hair at the back of his head with one of her hands.

"You get bored easily - like me. Don't you, Hermione?" he asked as his thumbs circled around her nipples.

Hermione's head thumped back against the door and she replied with a contented, "Yes."

"You don't feel fulfilled with the life you have now - like me. Don't you, Hermione?" he asked as his hands slid underneath her t-shirt and he pulled down the cups of her bra to touch her.

She shook her head and whimpered, "No, I don't."

Tom pulled his face from her neck to look down at her. He knew his next words and he knew it would be a mistake to speak them, because he  _knew_ what her answer would be. "You desire  _more -_ like _me_. Don't you, Hermione?"

Her bottom lip quivered as she stared up at him with a defeated expression. She blinked the tears from her eyes. " _Yes._ I do," she replied. Then, she pulled his face down to hers in a viscous kiss that he eagerly returned.

He pulled away from her long enough to yank both of their shirts over their heads, and pushed her back up against the door. Hermione leaned forward again to kiss him, but Tom thread his fingers through her hair gathered at the nape of her neck, and tugged her head to the side. She gasped when he brought his lips to her ear, and rubbed the heel of his other hand against the sweatpants between her thighs. He whispered, "Tell me what you desire the most, Hermione."

Warm hands traveled down his sides and it left his insides swirling. " _Tom_ ," she pleaded desperately.

His grip tightened in her hair as a warning, and gave her cunt a quick swat before rubbing it again. Her humid sigh spilled across his jaw and it left him feeling drunk. "Tell me, Hermione. Tell me what you desire the most."

Her trembling hands found the button and zipper to his jeans. Tom tried to swallow the saliva that wasn't on his tongue as he waited for her answer.

Hermione unbuttoned his jeans, and slowly pulled the zipper down. Tom closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against the door as she slid her fingers down his hips, and brought the tops of his jeans and boxers down with them. His grip on her hair tightened even more and he sucked in fresh air that turned his teeth cold when her small fingers wrapped around him. "You, Tom. _You_."

Tom let go of her hair, so he could tug her sweatpants off. Her plain, cotton knickers were quickly added to the pile. He kicked his jeans off the rest of the way, and hungrily kissed her as she slowly pumped her fist along his length. She ran her thumb along the head, and slid the pre-cum dripping out of him along the sensitive patch underneath the head of his cock. He broke the kiss off, and rested his forehead against hers as he slowly pushed his hips into her hand. 

Hermione's eyes caught his and he forgot how to breathe. Her other hand touched the side of his face and the intensity of the look in her eyes left him feeling conflicted. Lust, he was familiar with; affection, he was not. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. Her other hand was working him and all he could focus on was the hand that was touching his face. Her voice shattered his thoughts.

"Tell me what you desire the most, Tom."

Tom's eyebrows knit together in confusion for only a moment, before she almost brought him to his knees. She quickly rolled the palm of her hand over the head of his cock until it was wet with his pre-cum, and slid her hand down his shaft in one quick movement. He moaned.

"Tell me, Tom," she commanded quietly, then began to roll her palm over his head again. He dug his fingers into her hips, and spun her around. Tom pressed his body against hers until her breasts were flattened against the door and a bewildered Hermione turned her head to the side to look at him over her shoulder. He snaked his arm around her hips, and slid his hand between her legs to start drawing lazy circles around her clit. She let out a low moan, and pushed her backside against him in an attempt to get closer. 

He wedged himself between her legs from behind, and used his free hand to position himself at her opening. His other hand continued teasing her as he kissed the spot underneath her ear and he whispered, "You, Hermione. _You_." 

Hermione's eyes snapped to his right as he pushed himself into her. Her mouth fell open and she let out a loud moan that he quickly swallowed up with his lips. Tom grasped her hips and he looked down as he watched his wet cock slide in and out of her at a lazy pace. She tried to speed things along by grinding against him, but he just dug his fingers into her hips to still her, and continued moving at a teasing pace until it left her nearly sobbing. He was finally having her and he wanted to take his time and enjoy it.

"Tom," she moaned under her breath. 

A devilish smile spread across his face knowing that _Ronald_ was busy sleeping peacefully downstairs while Tom was busy filling his fiancee with his cock and she was absolutely _loving_ it. He was reminded of this fact when he heard the crowd cheering on the tele downstairs at the same time she was begging for more of him. It felt like both the crowds and Hermione were cheering him on. Tom gave her what she wanted for a few seconds and quickened his pace, then slowed down again.

" _Please,_ " she groaned, and lifted her arms above her head to thread her fingers through his hair. When he still didn't listen, she tugged his head forward by his hair - _hard_. 

Tom pulled his cock out of her most of the way and she cried out when her elbows banged against the door when he slammed back into her. Her left cheek was still pressed against the wooden surface that he had sanded down himself. He pressed his forehead against her temple and asked, "Does he make you feel like this when he _fucks_ you?"

He felt her body tense against his at his question, so he slid in and out of her again while he rubbed her clit reassuringly. "Tell me, Hermione."

She let out a relaxed sigh, and started to grind her arse against him again. She shook her head using the little motion she had being pushed against the door. "No, he doesn't make me feel like this."

Tom slammed into her again, and gently pinched her clit. She moaned out loudly this time, "Oh, my _God_. Tom, _please_."

"I'm curious now, Hermione," he started, and grinned against her cheek as he continued teasing her. "Have you ever thought of me when he's fucked you?"

"Yes," she whimpered.

His gut clenched and he licked his lips. "Have you ever imagined it was me fucking you, instead of him?"

Hermione screwed her eyes shut. "Yes."

Tom ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth. "How many times?"

She didn't answer, so he pulled out of her. Her eyes snapped open and she started to turn around to look at him. "What are you doing-"

He pushed her back against the door and repeated, "How...many...times?"

"I...I don't know! It's not like I kept track-"

" _Bullshit_. How many times? Once? Twice? Come on, now, Hermione. Don't be shy. We've seen each other naked now, so there's no reason for-"

" _Every time!_  " she snapped. Most of her hair was covering her face now, but he could see that her teeth were bared. Her hair fluttered with each angry exhale she made. "Alright!? Every _fucking_ time, I wished it was _you._ I wished it was you and it wasn't you and I fucking _hated_ myself for it-" 

Tom linked his fingers through hers, ripped her hands off the back of his head, and pulled her from the door. Her back was still pressed against his chest when he turned her toward the vanity sinks, and slapped their hands down on the porcelain. Hermione tried turning her head back to look at him again, but Tom leaned over her back, and grasped her chin firmly in his hand. He turned her face roughly to the side and she caught his eyes in the mirror in front of her. The corners of his mouth curled into a cold smile. He grabbed his cock, and pushed it between her wet folds to find her opening. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Now, you'll know that it's _me_ fucking you, Hermione. There's no need to imagine anymore."

He heard her inhale sharply when he quickly filled her again. There was no teasing anymore. There was no waiting anymore. Not now. Not anymore. Not when he knew this wasn't one-sided. Not when he knew he could steal her. Not when he knew that she felt the same way about him that he felt about her. He knew this was wrong. He knew he was making a mistake, but he didn't care. He finally accepted that he wanted her and he would do _anything_ to have her. He finally knew what he desired.

Tom's eyes didn't leave Hermione's the entire time he fucked her. He kept his eyes on hers when he ran his hands over her arse, up her spine, and grasped her shoulder and a fistful of her curls. He kept his eyes on hers when he leaned against her back and kneaded her breasts. He kept his eyes on hers when he moved his hands to cover hers on the vanity as he pushed and pulled his cock in and out of her over, and over, and over again. He kept his eyes on hers as she guided their right hands down to circle around her clit together and he used his other hand to cover her mouth as she spiraled out of control. She kept her eyes on his when he frantically snapped his hips against her ass, and muffled his cries into her shoulder. His eyes didn't leave hers when they caught their breath with a shared smile and he grew soft inside her.

And her wide eyes didn't leave his when there was banging on the other side of the bathroom door. 

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

She quickly pulled away from Tom, and their cum splattered onto the tile.

" _Fuck_ ," Hermione muttered underneath her breath, and started throwing her discarded clothes back on. "I'm just cleaning the bathroom, Ron! I'll be out in a few minutes!"

Tom narrowed his eyes at her when she tossed one of Ron's dirty socks on the evidence, and started pushing it around with her foot as she threw her shirt over her head. She started handing Tom his clothes, and frantically motioned for him to put them back on. He frowned at her, but complied. The doorknob rattled.

"Cleaning the bathroom? With the door locked?" Ron asked from the other side.

"Yes. I had to take a piss," she replied, and threw her hands up in the air. 

There was a brief pause. Ron's voice was closer to the door and a smile could be heard. "It didn't _sound_ like you were taking a piss, 'Mione. You could have just woke me up, if you were in the mood. Come on, open up. Let me join you."

Hermione's voice cracked when she replied, "No! I really wasn't doing anything, Ronald! I was just cleaning and using the loo! Could I have some privacy, please?"

"Privacy? Wha-? 'Mione, come _on_."

"NO!"

"Bloody Hell! Why are you acting so weird? I don't understand what the big deal is...wait," there was another long pause and Tom froze while he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. "What the fuck? Is Tom in there with you!?"

"What? No, of course not-" she started to say, but the door rattled underneath Ron's fist.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, Hermione! I just looked underneath the door and I saw his feet! Open the fucking door!"

"Oh, my God," Hermione muttered, and grasped frantically at her hair as Ron slammed repeatedly into the door. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?"

Tom pulled her hands out of her hair, and tilted his head to the side as he smoothed her curls down. "Do you want to marry him?"

Her nose scrunched up in confusion. "What?"

"I said, 'Do you want to marry him?'" he repeated calmly.

Hermione faltered and her facial expressions were conflicted. "I...I don't know."

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' question, Hermione."

Ron slammed into the door again and he cursed.

Her gaze traveled from the door, to Tom's face. "I...I _thought_ I did, but now I'm not so sure."

"Yes or no," Tom repeated.

The door slammed again and Hermione jumped. She shook her head as she looked at Tom. "No. No, I don't."

"Do you love him?" he asked.

"What? That's a silly question. Of course, I d-"

"Does he love _you -_ unconditionally?"

Hermione paused. Her thought-process was displayed openly on her face as her expressions rapidly changed. "I...I _think_ he does."

"When was the last time he took you out on a date without _you_ planning it first? When was the last time he cooked for you? When was the last time he did something for you without you having to ask him first, where he didn't expect some sort of favor in return? When was the last time he helped with any of the renovations? When was the last time he made you feel like I just made you feel? When was the last time he made you feel _anything_?" Tom asked her quietly - angrily - close to her face.

Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks now. Her eyelids fluttered in defeat when she looked at him and whispered, "Never."

Tom wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "Do you trust me?"

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and she frowned. They stared at each other for several moments before she nodded once. Tom moved away from her, and turned toward the door. "I'm coming out now, so stop trying to bust it down."

"Yeah, you better get your fucking arse out here, you cunt!" Ron called through the door.

Tom rolled his eyes, sighed, and opened the door to see a red-faced Ron panting. Ron grabbed the front of Tom's shirt, and slammed him into the wall. Hermione let out a scream when picture frames and pottery smashed to the floor. "Right. So, why the fuck is some _punk_ teenager locked in the bathroom with my fiancée? And don't tell me you were helping her paint the bloody walls."

Tom shrugged a shoulder, and replied in a bored tone, "Fine. Alright. I was fucking her."

Ron spluttered in shock. "Wait-what-you? You did  _what_?"

The corner of Tom's mouth turned up in a cold grin and he leaned forward. "I...was... _fucking_...her. You really are dense, aren't you? No wonder she got bored with you, and turned to some 'punk teenager' for a good shag."

Tom didn't think it was possible, but Ron's face turned even more red. "Are you takin' the piss, mate?" He still held Tom against the wall when he looked at her still standing in the bathroom. "Hermione? Is it true?"

"Ron, I-" she started.

"Fuck me, you've got to be shittin' me right now, 'Mione. You fucked some _teenage bloke_ who looks like he's about to go to Warped Tour in my own house while I'm asleep  _downstairs_?"

"Excuse me, but technically, this is  _my_ house-" she started, but was cut off.

"Oh, so just because of technicalities, you think it gives you the right to be a _slag_ -" 

Tom shoved Ron away from him, and swung his fist. He knocked Ron into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Tom seethed calmly as he stared Ron down. "Don't you _ever_ talk to her like that again."

Hermione ran in between them and yelled, "Stop it! Both of you! This is madness!"

Ron laughed once he righted himself again. "Yeah, you know what? You're absolutely right. I don't know why I'm just sitting here. This _is_ madness," he said, then lunged for Tom.

Tom's ribs slammed into the doorframe and he felt fire shoot up his side. He felt Ron's angry fists landing wherever he could reach - his arms, his sides, his stomach, his face. He could vaguely hear Hermione crying and screaming nearby. Once he got his bearings, he dropped to the side right as Ron's fist would have connected with his face. Ron howled in pain when his knuckles crunched against the sharp corner of the doorframe and Tom swung one well-placed punch underneath Ron's chin.

Everything after that happened in slow-motion. There was a succession of heavy thuds, Hermione's scream, then silence.

Tom remembered only two things before he slipped on a shard of glass; he remembered the stillness of Ron's body lying at the bottom of the stairs and he remembered with an acute sense of awareness of how Hermione tasted. 

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_She tastes like ink and this is how I know:_

_When you step into a confessional, a healing process is supposed to begin. You start off by crossing yourself, and saying, 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.' You tell the priest how long it has been since your last confession. And then, you can finally confess your darkest deeds and thoughts without fear of judgement or retribution. If you show true sorrow - true regret for your thoughts and actions, you will only receive absolution once you complete your assigned penance. It's usually a handful of Hail Mary's or Our Father's, depending on the severity of the sin._

_So, you looked at your sister in an inappropriate way, and had lustful thoughts of her again. Well...are you remorseful about it? If so, then ten Hail Mary's._

_You thought about what it would be like to watch the life leave that irritating co-worker's eyes by your own hands. Do you wish to seek forgiveness from your Heavenly Father about it? Yes? Then two Our Father's._

_You could commit a crime, and be absolved of your sins after you complete your penance, as long as you **truly** regret it. _ _The problem with confession, is that it has raised us to believe that just because we are expected to be imperfect creatures, we are also expected to sin. Religion also tells us to be more God-like, but it only sets us up for failure. No one can be God-like. Perfect people do not exist. We are all sinners in this world, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar. Liars are also sinners. Oh, would you look at that? Full circle._

_I feel like it is similar to writing your sins down with a pencil, knowing full-well that you can erase your mistakes later. Writing with a pencil is only temporary. This doesn't teach anyone to be truly remorseful about their sinful actions. This teaches people to go ahead and sin, because you can always erase it later. The thing is, even after erasing your mistake, you can still see the indentations on the paper. This is what I like to call 'residual sin'. If you look closely enough, or if you take the blunt tip of that pencil and shade over the paper, your mistakes will rear their ugly face once more._

_I believe that sins are never truly absolved, so why bother putting yourself through penance? All it does is teach you to feel guilty about your human nature. You were born to sin, but you must choose your sins wisely. If you are going to sin, do not leave room for regret; do not leave room for guilt. Write your sins down with a pen._

_The question I must ask myself is: do I **truly** regret the sins that I have committed?_

_No, I do not. How does one erase their mistakes when they've written their page out entirely in ink?_

_I have written her down in my diary over and over and over again until her ink has stained my fingers black._

_This is how I know she tastes like **ink.**_

_This is how I know she tastes like **sin.**_

_**She is my mistake that I shall never erase.** _


	15. The Fifth Time

 

* * *

 

_The fifth time I saw her, she was asleep in the chair next to my bed._

The light from the fluorescents bled through Tom's eyelids like a dream. And that's how he felt - like he was waking up from a dream. The first thing he noticed, aside from the harsh lighting, was a steady beeping that went in time with his heartbeat. He eventually opened his eyes slowly, and took in his surroundings.

He was in a hospital room, wearing a hospital gown, connected to hospital equipment. He remembered what happened before he slipped and fell, and dread settled snugly into his gut. His eyes flew around the room in a panic, then he spotted Hermione curled up in a recliner with a book in her lap, fast asleep.

" _Hermione_ ," he'd tried to say, but it came out as nothing but a croak. He licked his lips, and swallowed a pool of saliva to coat his throat, so he could speak. It was so dry, it felt like he hadn't used his voice in weeks. After he swallowed, he tried again, "Hermione?"

She shifted in her seat, and gradually awoke. She sat up, and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. Her sleepy eyes settled on him and she became hyper alert. "Oh! Oh, my God, Tom! You're awake! You're finally awake!" she said with an excited grin.

The corner of Tom's mouth lifted up in a half-smile at her excitement, but then he frowned. "Wait. ' _Finally awake_ '? How long have I been asleep for?"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, and gave him a worried look. "Oh, gosh...about two months now, I think."

Tom felt his mind go blank. _Two months?_ He'd been asleep for two entire months? He tried to sit up, but struggled. Hermione jumped out of her chair to help him. "It feels like it's been longer than that. My muscles feel utterly useless," he joked half-heartedly.

Her hands left his upper arms after helping prop him up. "Oh, they seem absolutely perfect to me," she said, then her face flushed. "Er, I mean, it shouldn't take you that long to build them back up, you know?"

He gave her an odd look over her strange behavior, then shook his head. He was terrified to ask, but he just had to know. He wasn't in a prison hospital ward, so he took that as a good sign. And the mere fact that she was here with him was taken as an even greater sign. He swallowed nervously, and asked, "Hermione...where's Ron?"

It was Hermione's turn to give him an odd look now. "Ron? Do you know Ron? Ronald Weasley?"

Tom frowned at her. "Yes. Ron...your fiancee?"

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and she let out a shocked laugh. "My _fiancee_!? Ron!? Oh, Lord. No. No, no, no, no. That would be the worst thing imaginable. Can you imagine? God. _No_."

"So...you decided to break it off, then?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, and blinked. "Break it off? What do you mean? We were never engaged. Ron is dating Lavender," she said and her nose scrunched up in confusion. "Wait, how do you know Ron again?"

Tom's mind was reeling and his head was starting to pound something awful. He brought his hand up to his head and he felt bandages covering his right temple. What was going on? What was she talking about? Was he still asleep? Was this all a dream? It didn't feel real. _None_ of this felt real. There had to be an explanation.

He ignored her question, and asked a new one of his own, "How did I end up here again? Everything is a little...fuzzy."

Hermione's face softened and she uncrossed her arms. "You don't remember?"

"Obviously not," he muttered.

"Oh, my God. Um, well...I was walking to my office on campus back in November and I slipped on a patch of ice on the sidewalk. You helped pick me back up. And-"

"And you gave me Hell for smoking on campus grounds," Tom finished for her and he slowly shook his head in disbelief. He felt sick. _No._

"Yeah. You called me a bitch. I called you an egotistical prick. No hard feelings about that, by the way," she smiled briefly, but then it disappeared. "But then you slipped, and fell. You hit the side of your head off the cast-iron part of a bench - _hard_. I called an ambulance - you were bleeding really bad. I...I thought you were dead."

 _Right now, I wish that I was_ , he thought. Something in his chest hurt and he had a feeling he knew what it was. It wasn't a welcome feeling. He wanted to smother his screaming heart until the screaming stopped. He wanted to smother it until it begged and pleaded for mercy; he would show it absolutely none, just like his cruel mind never showed him any. His own mind used his imagination as a cruel joke against him. It made him realize how much he really must hate himself.

"You saved me," he stated lamely. He couldn't even look at her. _His_ Hermione was only real in his mind.

She was silent for a few moments. "Well...you picked me up when I fell on my arse, so I returned the favor."

His eyes snapped to hers. Hermione was smiling down at him. He stared at her. She smiled the same as in his mind. Was this another cruel joke? Then, he realized something else. "Why are you even here? Who are you?"

"Oh, that's so rude of me. I know so much about you and you don't even know me at all. I haven't even introduced myself yet - well, I mean, I technically have, but you were in a coma. You probably didn't even hear me," she replied, then her face flushed pink again. She continued rambling, "Uh, it probably sounds weird, but I read in a book once that some coma patients can hear people talking around them, so I would...uh... _talk_ to you when I came to visit. I'm Hermione Granger. I'm the new head professor of the English Lit department at Hogwarts."

Tom glanced at the side table and it was the first time he noticed all the books and papers spread out everywhere. "Did you move in here or something?"

Hermione laughed, and started putting her things away in her bag. "I guess you could say that. It's quiet here and it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't get bored of listening to me ramble on about nineteenth-century Russian literature."

He watched her move and he wanted to reach out and grab her hand. He wanted to stop her from leaving. "Well, I certainly hope you don't give boring lectures. I'm majoring in English Lit."

She paused, and grinned at him. "Oh, I know. I've heard _all_ about you from the other professors and students. You're at the top of your class. I've read some of your short stories," she said carefully, and tucked a curl behind her ear. "You're a brilliant writer, you know. Some of it is a bit...raw and dark, but it's real. It makes the reader feel and think."

Tom didn't know what to say. He was used to praise, but hearing it from her was... _different_. For once, his mind was blank.

Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, and smirked at him. "I suppose there's a beautiful mind hiding underneath all those tattoos and piercings, isn't there?"

His eyes didn't leave hers. "There just might be."

"I guess I'll just have to find out now, won't I? I'll go let the nurses know that you're awake. Rest well, Tom," she said, then went to leave the room. She paused in the doorway, and turned back around. "By the way, I _don't_ give boring lectures. What was it that Tolstoy said about boredom again? The desire for desires?"

Tom's heart seized in his chest when he realized that this Hermione - _this_ Hermione standing in front of him was _his_ Hermione. Sure, the memories produced by his mind during his coma were fake, but _she_ was not. She had spent the last two months visiting him. She had spent the last two months talking to him about whatever thoughts came to her beautiful mind. She had spent the last two months getting to know him in the only way she could.

And he knew her. He knew her better than she could ever begin to realize.

"Anyway, goodbye, Mr. Riddle. I'm looking forward to seeing you in class once you've fully recovered," she finished with a friendly smile, and left the room.

A slow smile crept onto his face once he realized that she wore no ugly, yellow ring on her finger. She wore no ring on her finger at all.

Ink had been smudged black across her fingertips.

She wrote her words entirely in pen.

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I have willingly bled my soul into these pages with her ink; both in my mind, and by my own hand._

_And like any ink, she has used it for her written word. I am covered in her. I am stained with her sins. I am forever marked by her and I will forever keep her with me on my pages._

_For I am her book and she is my story._


End file.
